


Equal and Opposite

by miss_aphelion



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Curses, Identity Issues, M/M, Magic, Pre-Derek Hale/Stiles, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-12 13:07:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2111031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_aphelion/pseuds/miss_aphelion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They watched him split in two, and they just assumed: Stiles was one, and the nogitsune was the other. </p>
<p>Nothing is ever that simple. </p>
<p>(Alternate Ending for Season 3)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scott

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: Story is on indefinite hiatus, but I have added my outline with snippets and the ending in the last chapter (subject to change if I ever get writing this again!)

Scott watches as the fly slips out of the shape of his best friend's lips, and gets caught in the small, wooden cage. He feels relief at first, but then his eyes are frantically searching out Stiles, to make sure the nogitsune isn't planning to take his best friend with him. 

Stiles has half fallen against Lydia, and he doesn't look any better, but he doesn't look any worse. 

"Scott," Lydia says, her voice wavering as she points towards his feet. "Scott, he's still breathing." 

Scott follows her gaze to see the nogitsune's host has fallen on the floor. He didn't notice he was still alive before, because his heart is beating in such perfect sequence with his best friend's that he never even noticed the slight echo. 

He moves closer and Lydia's breath hitches. "No, don't, don't touch him, we have to get rid to get rid of it," she says. 

"Not it," Scott says in disbelief, as he rolls the host over on his back. "Stiles. They're both…they're both Stiles." 

"Pretty sure not," Stiles says weakly. 

"This is Stiles," Lydia agrees. "He passed the Oni's test, right? This is Stiles!" 

"Scott, that's the nogitsune, remember?" Stiles asks. 

"No, it's not," Kira says softly. "The nogitsune has been trapped. We drew him out and trapped him again, so this body should be gone. So why is he still breathing?" 

"Do we care?" Lydia asks sharply. 

"Yes, because it's Stiles," Scott says again. "I don't know how, I don't how much of him is, but this is _Stiles_." He looks up at his best friend. "You both are." 

Stiles just stares at his double with horror. He looks even worse than he had before, and Lydia is obviously the only thing holding him up. 

"We need to get both of you to Deaton," Scott says firmly.

* * * * * 

To his credit, Deaton doesn't even hesitate when the crew comes dragging in two different Stiles'. Scott has the nogitsune Stiles in his arms while Lydia helps Stiles to a chair, and Deaton just motions Scott towards the back.

"Lay him on the table," he says. "What happened?" 

"We trapped the nogitsune, Kira's taking it to her parents," Scott says. "I bit him, but…the bite's gone, and he smells human. He smells like Stiles. How is that possible?" 

Deaton frowns as he examines the unbroken skin beneath the torn hoodie. "I've been doing some research, and what we saw happen with Stiles coming out of the nogitsune, that shouldn't have been possible either. If the one to come crawling up out of the floor had been the nogitsune, then maybe, but not the other way around."

"What are you saying?" Stiles asks. He looks like he's barely keeping on his feet and Lydia is hovering anxiously behind him, but his eyes give away his resolve. "Are you saying that I'm the one that's the demon? It's me?" 

"No, I'm saying I don't think either of you are demons. Not anymore." Deaton glances over at Stiles in concern. "I'm saying I think he split you in two, and that's why your body is shutting down."

Deaton lifts the host's hand from the table, noting how cold it is, just like Stiles'. His eyes still have the dark shadows beneath them, and he's fairly certain he's right. They're each of them half of what they should be, and nothing can survive this sort of separation. 

"There is a legend among the druids," Deaton explains, "of a curse that can expel all the good from your soul. According to the myth, those that cast it literally cough out all the good inside of them to create an entirely new person, leaving behind their darker natures." 

"So basically, I've got an evil twin now, is what you're telling me," Stiles says, and his legs start to give out. Lydia catches him and drags him back to the chair. 

"Sit, now," she says. 

Scott moves away from the host and rushes to Stiles' side in concern. He grabs his friend hand and holds on even when Stiles starts to tug away, trying to take what pain he can. 

"It's not that simple," Deaton says gently. "The nogitsune, it took the qualities it wanted in a host from you, and got rid of all the rest. You're the better half, Stiles, but you're still not whole." 

"But I am! I'm me!" Stiles protests. "I have no idea what that thing is, but I'm completely me!"

"Do you remember when you were prepared to help kill Jackson in order to save other innocent lives?" Deaton asks. 

Stiles stares at him in horror. "What are you talking about? I would never—I know what I said, I mean, I remember that but I didn't…I wouldn't do that. Of course I wouldn't. I could never hurt anyone." 

"Um," Scott said, looking slightly confused. "Dude, you were pretty convinced that Jackson had to die." 

"I don't—" Stiles protests, looking pale. "I would die before I would hurt Jackson!" 

"Okay, there's definitely something wrong with him," Lydia decides. 

"Or anyone else!" Stiles says impatiently, turning to give her a sharp look. "I don't want anyone hurt because of me! Okay? Not ever again." 

"It's okay," Deaton says reassuringly, moving to kneel in front of him. "The trouble is, Stiles, that you used to have a darkness in you. It's not a bad thing, because all of us do. You used yours for good, but it was there. The nogitsune took it from you and put it all in him. I don't think you're even capable of cruelty at the moment." 

"What, so I'm like the Disneyfied version of Stiles, is that what you're saying?" Stiles demands. "I'm like…no. That doesn't make sense, I'm still tough. I could be tough. I got us through his mind games, right? So I'm not helpless." 

"You're still you, of course. If the legend holds, then you both have the same mind, the same memories, but you have different emotional outlooks," Deaton says. "And if we don't find a way to get you two back into one, you're both going to die. The two halves can't be separated for longer than three days." 

"Three days?" Stiles demands. "That's a bit arbitrary and inconvenient." 

"I don't make the rules, Stiles," Deaton says lightly. 

"Personally, I prefer to break them," Stiles says. 

Scott frowns, because Stiles' lips didn't actually move. He sees Lydia's eyes widen as she looks behind him, and quickly spins around. Dark Stiles is on his feet and casually leaning up against the table they'd laid him on, watching them with clear, wide-awake eyes. Scott has no idea how long he's been conscious, and he swallows nervously. 

"Stiles?" he asks hesitantly. He gets back to his feet and takes a hesitant step closer. 

"Scott, buddy, if it isn't the guy that bit the hell out of me," dark Stiles says. "Thanks for that, by the way. Always sort of had this vague kind of want in the back of my mind, like, to be bitten? Or not to be bitten? But it turns out that it hurts like a bitch, so I'll pass on all future offers, if it's all the same to you." 

"Sorry, we thought—" Scott says sheepishly.

"Yeah, you thought I was all trickster, no Stiles," dark Stiles says. "Except, you know, _trickster_ , so you should probably have figured that one out." He looks over at Stiles. "You definitely should have." 

Stiles expression tightens and dark Stiles laughs. "Oh, but you did!" he realizes. "Or, at least, you knew killing me was the same as killing yourself. You just didn't care." 

"I still don't," Stiles says firmly, before looking at Deaton. "I do not want that back in me. I don't care if it kills me, I won't allow it." 

"Stiles," Scott argues. "That's not the nogitsune anymore, he's not evil. He was possessed before. What Deaton's saying, what I think he's saying, is this is you, just a little…darker." 

"Yes," Deaton agrees. 

"I know exactly what he is," Stiles says, as he gently tugs himself out of Lydia's supporting hold. He weakly steps over to dark Stiles, and meets his amused gaze. "You're not surprised by any of this, are you? That makes me think you already knew." 

"Of course I knew," he agrees smugly, his eyes sparking a bit as he shoots his other half a quicksilver grin. "The nogitsune confided in me because I wasn't a useless blubbering wreck." 

"Hey!" Stiles protests. 

Dark Stiles ignores him, glancing over at the others. "He needed you all distracted. He knew what you wanted most was your friend back, but he couldn't give up his host, so he split us apart. He gave you the half with all your favorite qualities: love, self-sacrifice, loyalty, blah, blah _blah_. Then he took the best for himself." 

"The best being?" Deaton asks curiously. "What exactly was left for you?" 

Stiles' eyes slip towards Deaton, and they look a little too much like the nogitsune's eyes, and the grin he's wearing, that does too. "A brilliant, ruthless, survivor," he says mildly. 

Scott can still hear his best friend's voice in his mind: _you really have to learn not to trust a fox_.

Scott thinks about those times Stiles has gone into survival mode to protect those he loves. He's always tried not to imagine what he might be like without it being tempered by all his empathy and good-nature, because Stiles can be almost scarily brilliant when he puts his mind to it. Peter had said once that Stiles was one unconquerable trauma away from being just like him, and Scott had decked him for it but at the same time—at the same time, he'd wondered. He'd hated himself for it but he could see it too. 

And now it's like having that realization come to life, with Stiles smirking across at him like Scott is something beneath his notice. Lydia has always hidden her intelligence, but Scott's always known just how smart Stiles is. He didn't hide it, but he didn't exactly let it show. He didn't lord it over them. It was just there, beneath the surface. 

This Stiles is looking at him like he's cataloguing everything he knows about Scott and filing it away in his mind. Like he's planning ways around him or straight through him, if it comes to that. 

"You're scared of me," dark Stiles says, an amused grin playing across his lips. "You're remembering the last time we were here together, am I right? When I stabbed you? Cause that wasn't actually me, you know that, right?" 

"Leave him alone," Stiles protests, but dark Stiles ignores him, and keeps his eyes on Scott. 

"I may be the one he choose to continue to possess, but if you don't blame Carebear Stiles over there for it, then you can't blame me," he says. 

"I don't blame either of you," Scott assures them. "It was the nogitsune, and that's gone. The rest, we'll figure it out." 

"And what exactly are we gonna do with him until we do?" Stiles demands, pointing at dark Stiles. "I can't exactly have my evil twin wandering about the town, wreaking havoc." 

"He's not your evil twin," Scott says again. "Stiles, really. I mean, he smells just exactly like you. He is you." 

"Would you prefer I call him 'My darker qualities and impulses, separated from my body and put into corporeal form'?" Stiles demands. 

"I guess evil twin could work," Scott allows. 

"And I don't want him anywhere near my father," Stiles insists. 

Until then, Dark Stiles had just been watching everyone bicker in amusement, but this statement has the smile dropping from his face. He straightens up and glares across at his counterpart. 

"You think you can keep me away from him?" Dark Stiles demands. "He's my dad too! And let me tell you, I can protect him a hell of a lot better than you. What are you going to do, exactly, if something comes for him? Surround him with unicorns and rainbows and hope for the best?" 

"If you really want to protect him, then protect him from yourself," Stiles says. "Look at you. You think he can handle seeing his son like this? Like a monster? He's already had to live through that once." 

"I'm not a monster," Stiles snarls. "Just who do you think kept us alive when that thing was in us? Huh? Just who do you think was leaving clues behind? Because you had your head so far buried underneath the sand you didn't even know what was happening." 

"This is really weird," Scott whispers, and both Stiles' turn to glare at him. "Sorry, sorry! But it is." 

"He can come with me," Derek says quietly. 

Stiles' eyes go wide as he spins and almost falls over, surprised to see Derek standing in the doorway. His darker counterpart doesn't turn right away, but his lips flick up into grin. 

"Awfully eager, aren't we?" dark Stiles asks, glancing over to run his eyes across Derek with an expression that's both appreciative and dismissive, all at the same time. 

"I don't think that's a good idea," Stiles says quickly. "Let's just lock him up in a basement somewhere." 

"I'd like to see you try," dark Stiles says. 

"Alright! Stop! Everyone just stop!" Scott shouts, before turning and pointing at dark Stiles. "And you! From now on you're Bilinski. Cause I can't just keep thinking of you as 'Dark Stiles' in my head all the time." 

"Why do I have to be Bilinski, exactly?" he demands. 

"Because of the two of you, Stiles is more Stiles than you," Scott explains. "You're not…you're just…" 

"I'm just what?" Bilinski demands.

Scott looks at Stiles helplessly, and Stiles sighs. "What my friend here is trying to say is: you're a little bit of a sociopath," Stiles says. 

"Fine," Bilinski says. "It's fitting anyway, wouldn't you say? Bilinski's the one that Couch always put in the game. But if you call me Biles I will end you." 

Scott swallows hard. _Call me Biles or I'll kill you_ , Stiles had said once, and it had been funny then, but Bilinski looks like he means it. 

"There, now that's all settled, Derek, if you wouldn't mind getting Bilinski here settled in at your loft," Deaton says. "I have some research to do." 

Bilinski looks over at Derek with another sly grin. "You gonna handcuff me?" he asks. "Might work out better for you this time. No more nogitsune strength. Could be fun." 

Stiles pulls on Scott's sleeve to tug him closer. "Oh my god. Why is my dark side hitting on Derek?" he whispers urgently. 

"Uh, doesn't all of you sort of do that?" Scott asks. 

"What?" Stiles asks. "I don't do that! I've never done that!" 

"It's okay, Stiles," Scott assures, helping him sit back down. "Just, don't worry about him, okay? We're gonna figure this out." 

Stiles watches as Derek grabs Bilinski by the arm and tugs him out the doors. "I don't trust him," he says suspiciously. "He's up to something." 

"Yeah, probably, but he's you, right?" Scott says. "So whatever he's planning, you'll figure it out." 

"That's easy for you to say, but I know something you don't," Stiles says desperately, meeting his eyes. 

"What?" Scott asks.

"Just how far down my dark side really goes," he says quietly.


	2. Derek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Each chapter is going to take place from an alternating POV. In this one, "Bilinski" or "Dark Stiles" is going to be referred to simply as "Stiles" because it's Derek's POV, and he's having trouble separating them out.

Derek pulls Stiles into the loft by a tight grip on his arm, giving him a gentle shove inside as he turns to lock the door. He sets the padlock and activates the alarm, but Stiles had helped him set this up, so he's not confident in its ability to keep him in. 

"Still going for the minimalist bachelor look, huh?" Stiles asks. "Though to be fair, I don't suppose you've had much free time for decorating." 

"Sit down and shut up," Derek snaps. 

"Where? On the floor?" he asks incredulously. 

Derek points over at the couch against the wall. "Or the couch, Stiles," he says. 

Stiles never listened to him even before he was stripped of most normal human emotion, so this Stiles merely looks amused at the command. "Right," he says, and makes no move to sit. "You keep calling me Stiles." 

"You are Stiles," Derek says simply. 

"Yes," Stiles says, as he turns and walks the length of the loft, running his hand along the wall. "But the others don't want to see it. They want to pretend." 

"I've never been all that good at pretending," Derek says. 

Stiles stops at the window, looking out, and it reminds Derek a little too much of the last time they were here. "Stay away from the window," he says shortly. 

Stiles looks at him over his shoulder, and he's definitely amused now. "Just how long exactly am I meant to stay here?" 

"Until they find a way to fix this," Derek says, as he drops down onto the couch. "So you might as well sit down." 

"No television, no computer, not enough light to have a shadow puppet show," Stiles says dryly, but at least he moves away from the window. "Whatever will we do, to pass the time?" 

"I swear to God, Stiles, do not test me," Derek snaps, losing his patience. 

Stiles doesn't answer right away, so he should have known something was up. Still, he doesn't figure out what Stiles is planning until the moment he lowers himself down astride him, straddling his lap. "Happy now?" Stiles asks silkily, leaning forward so his breath tickles Derek's throat. "I'm sitting down." 

Derek goes very still, and swallows hard. "What do you think you're doing?" 

"We might as well have a little fun, right?" Stiles asks. "If you're worried about being my first, don't. That ship sailed in the basement of Eichen House." 

Derek puts his hands on Stiles' shoulders and holds him back so he can meet his eyes. "What?" he demands. 

"Don't be jealous," Stiles says, his lips quirking up. "You have only yourself to blame. You could have had me years ago if you'd only asked. I know it's what you want." 

"This is so far from what I want, Stiles," Derek says. 

"Now, that is a lie," he says. "Do you think we never noticed? You're not as subtle as you like to think." 

Derek doesn't exactly miss the use of the royal 'we,' and it's all the more unnerving that he doesn't know if he means himself and the nogitsune, or himself and his other self. "You're not well," Derek reminds him. "This isn't you." 

"Are you sure?" he asks. "Because maybe this the real me, when I'm not buried underneath all those conventions of what it is to be good, of what's acceptable and what's not. Maybe this is me, without the inhibitions." 

Stiles is exuding an eerie confidence, never mind that his skin is two shades too pale even for him and there are deep dark circles under his eyes. He still looks more self assured and competent than Derek's ever seen him. It makes Stiles look almost otherworldly, not so different than he had when the centuries old nogitsune had crawled down inside him. He wonders if that's what this is, something like an after image, a consequence of the possession. 

Then he wonders if maybe, instead, this is something that has been in Stiles all the time.

He feels Stiles hand sliding down the edge of his jacket, but catches both his wrists before they can make it too far down. He drags his hands roughly up between them. "Stop this," he says. 

"Why is it that we always stop ourselves from getting the things that we want?" Stiles asks curiously, and he leans forward, capturing Derek's lips.

Derek returns the kiss for a half a second before his senses return, and he uses the grip he has on Stiles to push him away. Stiles lets out a startled laugh as he lands on his ass on the floor, and then looks up with what seems to be a genuine grin. "Okay, no means no, I get it," he says. "Whatever, it's your loss." 

Stiles gets to his feet, dusting himself off mostly for show, and shrugs. "I'm sure I could find someone else. That other Stiles' is still so stuck in the old way of things, he thinks no one would want us." Stiles leans close, half tilted down so he can meet Derek's eyes. "But I got the part of us that knows just how well we've grown up. It probably wouldn't be hard to find someone. I bet I wouldn't have to go more than two blocks." 

"You're not going anywhere," Derek says firmly. 

"Who's gonna stop me? You?" Stiles asks. "You're not even an Alpha anymore, what the hell are you going to do?" 

Derek knows this is a challenge, and he's got to lay down the law if he's going to have a chance in hell of handling Stiles. He might not be an Alpha anymore, but he still knows what it takes. He moves before Stiles can react, wrapping his fists in Stiles's jacket and using the grip to spin them around. He pushes Stiles up against the wall, but Stiles doesn't react the way he usually does. 

His eyes don't go wide and wary, he just laughs, and lets his head fall back to rest against the wall. "Ah, just like old times," he says. "Except I've learned a few tricks since the last time you tried something like this."

Derek isn't sure exactly what happens. Once minute he's got a grip on Stiles, and the next he's flying across the room. He hits the ground hard, and can even feel a bone in his wrist crack from where he's landed wrong. It sends a bright, shock of pain through him even though it starts trying to mend itself almost before he can push himself up to his knees, but the terror beating in his heart isn't from the pain. 

He glances over at Stiles in growing horror. "You're still the nogitsune," he says.

"No," Stiles snorts, as he casually walks over to kneel in front of him, eyes tracing the floor to draw Derek's attention there. Derek looks down to see he's been completely circled in mountain ash. "I'm just really very clever, so I can see how you're confused." 

Derek doesn't know whether to be relieved or not. If he's using mountain ash, then he's not the nogitsune—but that's not as reassuring as he wants it to be, considering. 

"Lifted that from Deaton," Stiles continues with a smirk. He tilts his head as he watches Derek push ineffectively against it to test the strength. "It's strange, huh, how little it really takes to stop you? You all worry so much about poor little me, poor _defenseless_ Stiles, and I could kill any of you, any time I want, and you wouldn't even know I'd done it until it was done." 

"You're not a killer, Stiles," Derek says. 

"No, of course not, but gaze into the abyss long enough and the abyss also gazes into you, and all that, so it's not like I've never _thought about it_ ," he says, a spark in his eyes like he thinks this is fun. "I've thought a lot about how I'd kill you, in particular, actually. A little wolfsbane in your water supply, the dose low enough you don't suspect, but it builds up, and up, and up—" 

Derek can still feel the cracked bone in his wrist, not knitting back together quite as quickly as it should. It's been happening a lot lately, and he's been too distracted to think much about it—but he knows he's been getting weaker. 

"Yeah, bet you've been wondering why you've felt a little off lately? Why it's taking a little bit longer than usual to heal? Couldn't all be from turning beta again, surely, but we knew that's what you'd think. Probably never even told anyone about it, am I right?" Stiles asks. 

"You were poisoning me," Derek realizes. "Why?" 

"The nogitsune wanted you out of the way, so I told him how to do it." Stiles shrugs. "You should be thanking me, really, because he wanted to kill you outright. But see, I don't want you _dead_ , Derek. I just need you out of the way." 

He had just written his weakness off as the price he'd paid to save Cora, but now that he knows what it is he's sure he's heard of this before, of wolfsbane poison slowly building up in a werewolf's system until it shuts down—it's not a fun way to die, but it takes a very long time. 

Time Stiles had bought him.

"You'll be better in no time, don't worry, no permanent harm done," Stiles assures him, and the veneer of concern in his voice almost makes him sound like Stiles. "The nogitsune wanted to burn you alive. I couldn't let that happen."

"So you saved me from him," Derek realizes. He wonders what it must take to hold your own against an ancient trickster, to trade plans with it, to give a little to gain a lot. 

"Yes," Stiles agrees simply. "That sniveling mess we left back at Deaton's wanted to resist, but that would have gotten us all killed. So I played the game. _I did_. And you know what? I'm pretty sure I won."

Stiles pushes up to his feet, graceful in a way he's usually not. His clothes are torn and wrinkled and he looks like he's been through a war, but even as bad as he looks he's holding together better than the Stiles they left behind. He can see Stiles start towards the door, and he makes a half aborted move to try and stop him before he remembers the mountain ash.

"Wait—" Derek says. "Wait, why are you stronger than the other Stiles? He can barely stand and you—" 

"Stalling? Really?" Stiles asks dryly, though he stops. "Isn't that beneath you?"

"If you're so sure of yourself, then talking with me a few more minutes shouldn't interfere much with your plans," Derek says. "You were put into equal pieces, right? So why is he worse off than you?"

"That's like the…seriously, that's like how every comic book villain gets caught ever, standing around telling their plans to everyone that's trying to stop them," Stiles says. "I'm not a comic book villain, Derek." 

"Exactly, because we're on the same side," Derek snaps. "We're allies, not enemies, and we're supposed to figure this out together. But you already have it all figured out, don't you? You know why he's so much worse off. So tell me and we can get this all worked out." 

"Well, it is sort of obvious," Stiles says as he takes a step back towards him. "He's killing himself quicker than I am, because he's trying so very hard to save all of you. I just want to save myself. I don't think it's going to be nearly so hard to do." 

"I think we both know that isn't true, you still care," Derek says. "You still care about us." 

Stiles grins. "You sure about that?" 

"Yes, because I think maybe you're right," he says. "I think you have access to enough mountain ash and wolfsbane and who knows what else, that you really could kill us if that was what you wanted." 

"But I'd have to _care_ to want you dead," Stiles reminds him. "People forget that, you know. You can't have hate without love, and I really can't feel either of them anymore. Don't you think that's strange? He's supposed to be the good one, but he must have gotten all our hate too, because not even the nogitsune could separate the two out." 

Derek stares into Stiles eyes and for the first time he can see everything that's missing. They look like glass marbles, impenetrable and cold—Stiles' eyes have always been so warm, so bright and curious and strong. This Stiles looks like someone has reached inside of him and dragged out his soul. 

And that, Derek remembers, is exactly what had been done. 

"We're going to save you, Stiles," Derek promises. "Whether you want us to or not." 

"I'm going to save myself," Stiles snarls, and his expression closes off even more. This is the most reaction he's been able to provoke with this Stiles, and he's not sure what's set him off. 

"You aren't in this alone," Derek promises. "Deaton will—" 

"Deaton?" Stiles laughs, the bright sound ringing strangely hollow. "Deaton is lying to you, haven't you figured that out yet? He didn't exactly tell you the whole legend. I mean, didn't any of you think it was weird? Sort of pointless? What sort of druid would willingly sacrifice all the love inside of them if they were only going to die from it anyway?" 

Stiles bends fluidly at the waist, his face pressed just on the other side of the barrier, right outside of Derek's reach. "You want to know the part Deaton didn't want to tell you? That druid used the curse to rip all the goodness of out of himself and destroy it, because he knew he could never fully protect those he loved while he still had it." 

Stiles stands back up straight then, looking pleased with himself. "Of course, the way the story goes, once he sacrificed that part of himself, he ended up killing everyone he'd meant to protect," he says. "But I like to think I've got a bit more self control than that." 

"What's the point of that?" Derek demands. "If that's the curse—what's the point—" 

"It works on the theory that our humanity holds us back," Stiles explains. "So really it's a curse to give you power, to give you the will to wield it. If they find a way to put us back together, then yeah, maybe that would save us, but that's not what this is meant for." 

"You're going to kill him," Derek realizes. 

"Not just a pretty face then," Stiles says. "That's how you finish it, yes. I just have to kill my other half, and I'll live. That's what the spell is really for, you just have to be willing to sacrifice part of yourself. Magic, see, magic always has a cost." 

"You can't do that," Derek says quickly. "Stiles, you can't—" 

"And why not?" Stiles demands. "I'm doing this as much for all of you as myself, because I can guarantee you, I'm gonna be a lot more fun in a crisis." 

"They'll never accept you," Derek insists. "Not as you are. And you love them still, don't you? You want them back. You kill him, and that's all over. They'll never forgive you." 

"They'll get used to me, when I'm the only one they've got," Stiles disagrees. "They'll settle. You will, too." 

"Why?" Derek demands. He stands so he can try and gain the higher ground, but Stiles is the one in control here, and they both know it. 

"I learned a lot from the nogitsune, about what our sacrifice has done to this place. Deaton calls the Nemeton a Beacon but Deaton lives to be vague—the nogitsune may have talked in riddles, but I managed to answer every single one." 

"What did you learn?" Derek asks warily. 

"We're basically living on a Hellmouth now," Stiles says. "You know, like Sunnydale? There's not going to be any more breaks. No summers to recover. No hiding or laying low. Everything is going to answer the call—things even you don't know exist, and you've been living in this world since you were born." 

"It can't be that bad," Derek says. 

"It's going to be worse, and that other Stiles, he's not going to be able to handle what's coming. He's going to break eventually." Stiles glances up his, eyes blank like stones. "I won't break." 

The worst part is, Derek can almost understand his thinking. He's almost given in to his wolf half a dozen times, in order to keep himself alive. This doesn't really seem all that different. This is Stiles, boiled down to his most primal, instinctual state. 

"Just stay out of my way, Derek," Stiles warns. "Or next time I might not play so nice." 

"I don't think you'd hurt me. You were the one trying to keep us all alive. It was the nogitsune that was poisoning me, not you," Derek says.

"Oh, but it was a little bit me," he admits slyly. 

"Stiles—" Derek starts, but he's ignored. 

"See you around, Sourwolf," Stiles says, sending him off a sloppy salute before spinning on his heel. He disables the alarm and the deadbolt almost without stopping, and disappears straight out the doors. 

Derek throws back his head and howls.


	3. The Sheriff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe it's over two years since I updated this! Honestly, I'm having a lot of trouble picking it up again but I'm kind of forcing myself because it bothers me that this one hasn't been finished. Mostly because I already have the whole story in my head and know how it's going to end, but it's just getting the words down that's been the problem for the last couple years. Hopefully, if I can force them out this story will finally leave me alone! ;-)

The Sheriff is up and at the door the moment he hears the key start turning in the lock, and then there's Stiles standing in the doorway. He looks terrible—pale and bruised and fragile, and so much like Claudia in those last few days that he can feel his breath catch in his throat. 

"Dad?" Stiles says hesitantly, and the spell is broken. He can't let himself get caught up with ghosts when his son needs him, so he surges forward, pulling Stiles into his arms. 

"Thank god," he whispers. "Thank god you're all in one piece." 

"Well, uh, actually," Scott says sheepishly, as he slips past them. "He's sort of in two pieces at the moment." 

He looks back at Scott with narrow eyes. "Excuse me?" 

"I have an evil twin now," Stiles says quietly, and the Sheriff spins back to look at him. "We're calling him Billinski." 

Stiles smiles at him with a crooked little grin, sheepish and resigned and so unlike his son. He frowns at him before turning to glare at Scott. "Kids, I'm still new to this, remember?" he asks, as he reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Someone want to try to explain this in a way that actually makes sense?" 

"I don't think that's actually possible," Scott says, scrunching his face up in bemusement. "I still don't really understand it myself."

The Sheriff looks back at his son. "Stiles?" 

Stiles sighs, reaching out a hand to brace himself on the wall. "Apparently the nogitsune expelled all that was good and true about me, which left my sociopath of a mind-twin to be their host," he explains dryly. "That would be Billinski." 

"But you're Stiles," he asks, just to be sure. 

"Yes," Stiles says, smiling weakly. "Yes, I promise, I'm me." 

"But so is the other one," Scott reminds him. 

"I still say that's debatable, but alright," Stiles says, rolling his eyes. "But he's…" Stiles trails off, glancing over at Scott for help. 

"He's not well," Scott offers diplomatically. "So, you know, if he happens to show up, maybe don't approach. Maybe just taze him a little. This one should taze just fine." 

Stiles snorts, before he starts sliding down the wall. The Sheriff reaches out to grab him, concern flashing in his eyes when he feels how cold his son is. "You're freezing," he says, placing one hand on his cheek to judge his temperature. "I thought you guys got this thing, I thought once he was gone you'd be better." 

He looks back up just in time to see Scott and Stiles share a look that has him thinking that was never really the winning theory, but he resists the urge to yell at how reckless they've been. He knows his kid always tries to protect him—protect everyone. He should have known not to let him out of his sight in the first place. 

"Yeah, well," Stiles admits. "There's been a bit of a snag." 

Stiles is barely holding himself up at this point, and the Sheriff reaches out to pull him into his arms before he falls on his face. He drags him with one arm behind his back and the other beneath his knees, and heads to the living room to lay him on the couch. 

"The Princess carry, really, dad?" Stiles asks, though he submits to the treatment with better grace than he'd been expecting. 

He carefully places him on the couch, watching him with narrowed eyes. "Stay there," the Sheriff says firmly, before turning to face Scott. "Now what the hell is wrong with my kid." 

"Uh," Scott says, his eyes widening as he takes an instinctive step back. "Well, there's this curse, right? A druid curse. The nogitsune used the curse for two reasons, to keep us busy and keep a host for itself, and then there were two Stiles, this one and you know, the other one. And we've got three days. Well, probably two days, now. Two and half maybe. But Derek's watching Bilinski, and we've got it all under control." 

"Scott, don't take this the wrong way," the Sheriff sighs, "but is there anyone else I can ask?" 

"Deaton is working to find us a solution," Scott says, with an apologetic wince. "And Stiles could probably explain it better." 

"Stiles will lie through his teeth if he thinks it's gonna protect me," he says, resigned. 

"But this is like Saint Stiles!" Scott insists, glancing over at Stiles with an encouraging grin. "He actually said he wouldn't even ever hurt Jackson. I’m not sure he can lie."

"Yes, I would never lie," Stiles deadpans. "And you're brilliant at subterfuge." 

"You're—" Scott starts, eyes widening. 

"Yes, my sarcasm is fully functional, thank god," Stiles says weakly, before turning his gaze back to his father. "But yeah, I am basically Pollyanna. Scott killed a spider in front of me on the way here and I nearly cried." 

"It was about to crawl on you," Scott insists. 

"He was tiny, and had his whole life in front of him!" Stiles shouts back, his eyes turning worryingly glassy. "I was going to name him Sir Arthur!" 

Scott bites his lip, turning away from Stiles and tugging the Sheriff with him. "He's been like this the whole time," he confides in a side whisper. "It's really starting to freak me out." 

"I can hear you," Stiles says, still looking disturbingly on the edge of tears. "I'm fine! I'm the same as always. I always liked spiders." 

"You hate spiders," Scott insists, turning back around. "Don't you remember that time in third grade that you created your own spider killing spray-gun? You were convinced they were out to get you and kept spraying all the walls in your room. We both ending up accidentally getting high on the ammonia." 

The Sheriff heaves a sigh, and Scott turns to him, eyes widening. "I mean. No, obviously, that never happened. You're right, Stiles. You've always liked spiders." 

"Let's just focus on the bigger issue for a moment, huh?" the Sheriff asks. "Give me the worst case scenario." 

Stiles looks away. He knows his kid wants to lie to him, and it's obvious he still can. But even before all this, Stiles only ever lies for good reasons, to protect those he loves. And it's obvious that he can't protect his father from this, that shielding him now will only make it worse later. 

"I die," Stiles admits, glancing back up. 

The Sheriff's expression hardens. "That's not an option." 

"I'm sorry, but it is," Stiles says. "We have less than three days to figure out how to undo this curse, or both me and my evil twin are going to die. I'm sorry. I don't want to do this to you, and we'll stop it if we can. But it might be…it might be that this is for the best." 

"What the hell are you talking about?" the Sheriff snaps. "In no scenario is you dying for the best. We're going to fix this. I don't care what I have to do." 

Stiles looks up at him. "You didn't see him, dad," he says. "You didn't see what I have in me. What I'm capable of. I could be worse than the nogitsune. And if the only way to save me is to put all that darkness back inside me, then maybe I'm not worth saving." 

"Stiles, it doesn't matter who he is, okay?" Scott insists. "Because you're more than either of you on your own, and no matter how much darkness you have in you, you'd never let it get the best of you." 

"Are you sure of that?" Stiles asks, laughing desperately. "Because I'm not." 

"I am," the Sheriff snaps. "And you're not dying, not any single part of you. Are we clear?" Stiles glances away, and the Sheriff kneels in front of him, gently grasping his chin to pull his gaze back. "Are we clear?" 

"I understand what you're saying," Stiles says quietly. "But I don't think any of you understand just what I'm capable of." 

The Sheriff is about to respond when the front door slams open, and Lydia comes rushing inside. Her eyes frantically search for Stiles, but she only relaxes marginally when she sees him. "We've got a problem," she says. 

"What's happened?" Scott demands. 

"Peter just called. Derek howled out a distress call, and Stiles' doppelganger is gone. Deaton's going to get Derek out, while Peter goes after the other." She looks at Stiles in concern. "I was afraid he might have been coming here." 

"We haven't seen him," Scott assures her. "I don't think he'd want to risk getting caught while we're all here."

"Wait," Stiles says, weakly pushing himself up. "Did you say Peter went after my evil twin?" 

Lydia nods sharply. "Yes, he's following his trail," he says. "But he had at least a fifteen minute head start." 

"No, no, no," Stiles says at once, his voice going a little high-pitched. "Those two together is a bad idea. We have to keep my evil twin as far from Peter as we can. "

"Why?" Scott asks. 

Stiles winces. "Well, there might be a small, _very_ small part of me, that thinks he's sort of brilliant," Stiles admits reluctantly. "Let's just say we don't exactly want newly dark Stiles and long-term dark Peter teaming up." 

"Oh my god," Scott says. "You _like_ Peter?" 

"I admire his thought process!" Stiles protests, and then winces at his own admission. "I mean, occasionally. When I'm not being horrified by it." 

"Kid," the Sheriff sighs, "You know you're never allowed to be alone with him again, right?" 

"It's not me you have to worry about, it's him!" Stiles insists. "I loathe Peter! I will never forgive him for what he did to Scott and Lydia, but that doesn't…I mean, I _understand_ it. Like, if it was a book, and he was the anti-hero, I might have some sympathy for him. If I could disconnect my emotions from it, then I might admire him." 

"And our new and not-so-improved Stiles has about all the emotional range of a teaspoon," Lydia realizes, her eyes turning worried. 

Stiles looks to her gratefully. "Yes, exactly," he says. "He just sees the actions, not the emotions behind them. Just, trust me. Call Peter off." 

"We can't," Lydia frowns. "I don't know how to get in touch with him. He just called me to give a quick update, he hung up before I could ask any questions. I don't know what his plan is." 

"I'll head out," Scott decides. "Hopefully I find St—Billinski first." 

"No," Stiles says quickly, his heart rate picking up. "No, Scott, he didn't seem too happy with you. I can't—he might hurt you." 

"He doesn't have any special powers anymore," Scott says dismissively. "And don't take this the wrong way, but neither of you are looking very good. I think I can take him." 

Stiles frowns in concern, but doesn't protest. Lydia isn't quite as circumspect, and snorts delicately. "Please tell me you aren't this stupid." 

"What?" Scott demands. 

"You have absolutely no idea who you're dealing with, do you?" she asks, watching him carefully. "You're Stiles' best friend. I thought if anyone would understand, it would be you. He's had the nogitsune in him, don't you remember? Don't underestimate him. Underestimating him is what got us into this mess in the first place."

"That wasn't Stiles, it was the nogitsune," Scott insists. "And the nogitsune is gone." 

"I wasn't talking about the nogitsune," Lydia says primly. "I was talking about the fact that we left his evil twin with Derek, a born werewolf, to watch him, and assumed incorrectly that it would be enough to keep him where we wanted him. He just took out Derek without breaking a sweat, and you still think you're going to have no trouble tracking him and keeping him in one place?" 

Scott frowns as he realizes he hadn't thought to question how Stiles had gotten away in the first place. "How did he manage to get away from Derek?" he asks. 

"He trapped Derek with mountain ash, then went right out the front door," Lydia says. "There's no telling what other tricks he might have up his sleeve. I know there seems to be some kind of misconception among the pack that Stiles is helpless, but I'd take Stiles over any one of you to back me in a fight." 

Stiles blushes slightly, trying to keep himself braced against the back of the couch. "Thanks, Lyds," he says. 

"Yes, well, it usually would be a compliment," she says, glancing at him. "But at the moment, it's a warning. I wouldn't want you for an enemy, Stiles. I'm not looking forward to going up against you any more than I was the nogitsune." 

"Stiles isn't anything like the nogitsune," Scott snaps defensively. 

"Under normal circumstances, I'd agree with you," Lydia says. "But Stiles isn't exactly himself right now, either one of him. And if you're really going to go after him, you need to face up to that or he's going to take you out before you even see him coming." 

"She's right," Stiles says weakly. "I don't exactly want to admit to it myself, but I can be just as dangerous as the rest of you." Scott snorts and Stiles sighs. "It's not a joke, Scott." 

"Stiles, I get that you've got a dark side, okay, I do understand," he says. "But you're both weak, and you don't have special powers. I can handle you. I promise." 

"Maybe I should come with you," the Sheriff says, though he glances at his son in concern. 

Lydia shakes her head. "You need to stay with Stiles," she says. "We can't leave him alone. Peter…he says that the other Stiles, he told Derek that he plans to kill this Stiles in order to complete the curse." 

The Sheriff blinks at her in disbelief, takes note of Scott's shocked expression, and then notices Stiles' lack of surprise. He spins on his son. "Stiles?" 

Stiles doesn't meet his eyes, as he absently runs a hand through his hair. "Uh, I didn't mention that was a possibility?" he asks. 

"No," they all snap at once. 

Stiles shrugs. "Oh," he says. "Well, don't blame me. Deaton didn't mention either, and he probably knows for sure." 

"You wouldn't…kill yourself, would you?" Scott asks anxiously. "I mean, we're gonna figure this out. We'll get you back the way you were. He has to want that, right?" 

"I don't want anything to do with him," Stiles says, looking up at Scott defiantly. "I think I'd honestly rather die than be him. And he's my opposite, so chances are, he doesn't want anything to do with me, either." He shrugs, trying to look nonchalant, though he can't quite hide the trembling. "But somehow, he didn't strike me as the self-sacrificing type." 

"You really think he's going to try to kill you," Scott says in disbelief. 

Stiles very carefully doesn't look at anyone as he answers. "I know he will."


	4. Peter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's been awhile! Sorry about that, I got caught up in the wonderful Marvel verse, and I'm afraid I'm sort of out of the Teen Wolf fandom. However, I got some really lovely comments on this story recently (thank you so much!) and since I had the next chapter already almost entirely written already, I cleaned it up a bit so I can post.
> 
> I am hoping to still finish this, but it's no longer certain. I know what it's like to get irritated with WIPs, so please keep in mind there is a chance this won't get finished!

When he first hears Derek howl, Peter almost doesn't bother. After all, he's already done more than he ever needed to when it comes to trying to piece this lost cause of a town back together. He's not quite sure if in the end it was familial obligation, or simple curiosity, but he answered the call. 

After Derek explained the situation, he was happy he had. Stiles has always been the most interesting of his little Scooby Gang. Scott might have been set up to be the reigning hero, by Peter himself no less, but he knows Stiles is the one to watch out for. He doesn't quite regret biting Scott, but sometimes he wonders what might have happened, had he bitten Stiles instead. 

He'd left Derek trapped in the mountain ash after calling Deaton to come break the barrier, and then followed the teen's trail. Derek had cautioned him, less for Peter's own safety than a not-so-gentle reminder of what would happen to Peter should anything happen to Stiles. Peter doesn't really take it to heart. 

He respects Stiles far too much to give him the kid gloves treatment, even before this. A Stiles without his pesky inhibitions, without a conscience to slow him down? Peter very much doubts their encounter is going to be civil. 

Stiles' scent is sort of hardwired in, and Peter follows it easily. The young man has almost always felt like pack, even though he'd turned down the bite. Peter doesn't encourage it, but can't exactly help it. He suspects Derek's the one tying them together, weaving the last of his family into this sad little attempt at a pack. All things considered, Peter knows Stiles is one of the better ones, anyway. 

He stops in front of the nondescript building, and the large steel roll-up door. It's Beacon Hill's only storage facility, 69.99 per month, and while not exactly the last place Peter would have expected Stiles to go, it's far enough down the list it had yet to be considered. 

He steps close enough to the door that he can tune in to the sounds inside, the faint rustling of movement, the steady heart hammering on with an uncomfortably familiar beat. There's no way to sneak inside, the only door is the roll up and it wasn't built for stealth. He's already at a disadvantage, and he doesn't like it. 

There's nothing to do but just go with it, so he grabs the bottom of the door and sends it spinning upwards with one quick, powerful push. He hears a quiet pop, like a burst of compressed air, and barely reacts in time to grab the small dart making a beeline for his heart. 

His fingers manage to wrap around the small tasseled end before the point touches his skin, and he looks up, raising an eyebrow where Stiles stands at the back of the storage room. 

Stiles smirks at him, letting the gun drop to his side towards the floor without trying again. He looks unconcerned about the missed shot, and for some reason Peter finds that unnerving. "Peter," Stiles says. "You're just about the last person I would have expected." 

Peter twists the dart in his hands, careful not to touch the tip, and frowns as he sniffs at it. "Wolfsbane?"

"Well, I do hate to be predictable," Stiles shrugs, "but it's not like I've got a plethora of choices when it comes to you guys." 

Peter steps inside, glancing around the small storage facility, thinking that's not really true, because this place is far more well stocked than Peter is comfortable with. There are makeshift shelves along one side with stacks of neatly labeled containers: mistletoe, mountain ash, wolfsbane. There are small copies of passport size photos neatly cut up and scattered along a counter on the other side, card cloners, a RFID reader, and a stack of cellphones. A key ring holds a number of keys, all carefully labelled: the school, the station, the Argents. On the wall behind it he’s pinned a paper with a list of number series, little notes written in undecipherable shorthand behind side each one. 

“Well, well, well,” Peter whistled under his breath, absently tapping the roll-up door so that it slides shut again behind him. ”Does anyone know about this place?" 

He approaches the counter, running his eyes over the various paraphernalia. Stiles leans back against the wall, making no move to stop him. Peter sees copies of Stiles’s father and one of the deputies ID badges, and another pinned list of what seemed to be passwords for secure log ins to various sites: one was labelled rmccall, who, if Peter was remembering right, worked for the FBI. 

At the farthest end there’s a passport, and where the top cover is tilted just slightly up he can make out Stiles' image, along with some generic name and a birthday about four years earlier than it should have been. 

Peter smirks as he recognizes the set up. It's part safe house, part arsenal, and part escape plan. 

"Did the nogitsune set this place up?" Peter asks. "Or was it you?" 

Stiles shrugs, deceptively casual, as he sets the dart gun on the shelf beside him. It's not the surrender that it appears. 

"I'd be lying if I said the nogitsune didn't help out, but I've been storing stuff here for years," he says, his lips tilting up into a smirk. Stiles wears confidence well, and it camouflages the obvious sickness he's trying to hide. Peter notices anyway: his eyes are shadowed more than can be explained by bad lighting, and his hands are shaking almost imperceptivily. 

"Seems excessive," Peter points out. 

"I spend most of my weeknights fighting for my life," Stiles says dryly. "What's excessive? Anyway, my dad's the Sheriff. I could hardly leave this all lying around my room." 

"Even now that he knows?" Peter asks, stepping to the side instead of towards Stiles. Stiles watches his movement closely, not fooled by the indirect route. 

"Old habits die hard," he says flatly. "What the hell do you want, Peter?"

Peter pauses, watching Stiles carefully. “I think I like you better this way." 

"I'll just bet you do," Stiles says. 

"You never answered me, does anyone know about this place?” Peter asked curiously. “Did you even tell Scott?"

"I'm not answering any of your questions, Peter. You really don’t want to be doing this,” Stiles says casually, his lips tilting up as he glances back at Peter. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“What doesn’t?” Peter asked. 

“Playing the hero,” Stiles explained, as he pushed off the wall. “You don’t gain anything by stopping me.” 

“Except perhaps their trust,” Peter points out.

“That's something you'll never have,” Stiles says. “Might as well devote your time to achievable goals.”

Peter hides a bristle of real irritation. Stiles seems to have worked out his motives for finding him faster than he’d worked it out for himself. Peter has been in limbo so long—he’s been without family, without friends, for so long. It was easy to fall into the trap of thinking some grand gesture might give him the leverage he needs, but Stiles is right. 

The others will never trust him. 

“Maybe I just came to save you,” Peter tells him. 

“Me?” Stiles says, his breath hitching in what Peter is fairly certain to be manufactured surprise. “Now why would you put yourself out for little ole’ me?” 

Stiles steps closer, glancing up through his ridiculously long eyelashes. “Do you want me, Peter? Is that what this?” he asks, his voice sort of breathless as he reaches out to trace his fingers across Peter’s lapel. “Because if that’s what you want, you can have it. You have to know I’ve always wanted you.” 

Peter expects to hear the tell-tale hitch in his heartbeat at the lie, but it doesn’t come. It doesn’t come, but it _is_ a lie. “I can’t tell when you lie,” Peter realizes. 

Stiles laughs, and glances up at him with a raised eyebrow. “I haven't got a heart anymore, remember?" 

But Peter can hear it beat, steady as a metronome. "The utter conviction that you're right—that you know better. That's how sociopaths fool lie detector tests." 

"Well, you would know," Stiles grins. 

Peter caught the hand trailing up his jacket, and forced it back between them. “You know your little seduction routine won't be nearly as successful on me as it was on Derek." 

"I know,” Stiles shrugs. “I’m trying to prove a point."

"Which is?" Peter asks.

"That even when I'm saying impossibly ridiculous things, my heart won't give me away,” he explains. 

“And what if I'd taken you up on the offer?" Peter asks curiously. 

Stiles twists free, and Peter lets him. ”I’m not your type." 

"Mmm, yes,” Peter agrees. “Much as I love myself, I don't actually want to date someone just like me." 

The Stiles he knew would have protested that, but this one just grins. "I think I might actually be a bit disappointed," he says. "I bet you're all sorts of fun." 

“Why is it so important I know you can’t lie?” Peter asks. 

“I just wanted to see if I could fool you,” Stiles explains, and Peter almost doesn’t notice what he’s doing until it’s too late. 

Peter strikes out and grabs Stiles wrist just as he presses the lid off a small bottle of mountain ash. “Unlike my nephew, I've always known not to underestimate you,” Peter tells him, and then swiftly snaps his wrist. 

He knows it's not so much taking the ash out of Stiles’ hand that saves him, as it is breaking his concentration from the sudden pain of a shattered bone. 

"You son of a bitch," Stiles snarls, pulling away and cradling his wrist to his chest. "You broke my wrist." 

"It's the one area in which you never win,” Peter tells him calmly. “You're not a fighter, Stiles, and even now you've never had to learn. You're a strategist, you're not a soldier." 

Stiles glares at him, tears forming in his eyes from the pain. 

"So you do still respond to pain," Peter says pensively. "That's good to know." 

"Fuck you," Stiles snaps. 

"Tsk tsk," he says, as he sets the bottle out of his reach. Stiles just watches him resentfully. “Are you ready to tell me what your plan is?” 

“We both know Derek already told you,” Stiles says, watching him with less calm than he had when Peter first arrived. Peter is certain that trick with the mountain ash would have worked on any wolf but him—it was a good play. 

But Peter was better.

“He told me what,” Peter explains. “He didn’t tell me how.” 

"Bite me," Stiles says, his eyes sparking. "Oh, wait, nevermind. That doesn't actually do a damn thing anymore, does it? You Hales just can't seem to hold onto your power. It might be funny, if it weren't all so tragic." 

Peter sighs. Really, it’s a good tactic, and it would be futile to pretend that Stiles hadn’t just struck a nerve. One thing people always got wrong about him is that they think he’s always out of control, but he never is. Peter never makes a single move he hasn’t already thought through, so Stiles isn’t going to rile him up enough to get him to make a mistake. 

Peter just doesn’t think he’ll be getting any answers from Stiles, either. "I admit I'm not quite sure how to deal with you when you're like this,” he says. 

“Afraid you’re not going to come out on top?” Stiles asks smartly. 

"Oh, I could beat you,” Peter tells him. “I'm just afraid I'd have to kill you, and I'd rather not." 

"That's okay. I've got no problems killing you, so it'll all work out in the end," Stiles tells him. 

Peter laughs. “I have to admit, I am impressed, Stiles. It takes a lot to impress me.” He steps closer, forcing Stiles to take a step back until he almost hits the wall. “I really am tempted to keep you,” he says, before reaching out quickly slamming Stiles' head back mercilessly into the concrete, knocking him unconscious before he can make some smart remark back. 

Peter heaves out a sigh, as he glances down where Stiles has slumped to the floor. "But then, I have a feeling you'd be more trouble than you're worth."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on Stiles suddenly being a good shot: in this story, he picked up a few tricks from the nogitsune.


End file.
